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“It was lame all those years ago; it’s still lame,” she snarls.
I spin her around to face me. “In case you’ve missed it, Taylor Swift has kind of become a big thing, and I am pretty damn sure it has a lot to do with ‘Our Song.’”
She snarls at me, plants her hands on my chest, and attempts to shove me.
“Can’t have you right next door and go about my day knowing I haven’t put a smile on those gorgeous lips of yours.” I lean in and whisper, “Make nice with me.”
I feel her body shiver against mine before her spine straightens.
“Make nice with you? You told Frankie that you and I fuc?—”
“Not to sound like a little bitch, but he started it.” I lean in and don’t even try to hide the fact I’m inhaling her scent.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” She wiggles yet doesn’t pull back.
“Always smell like magnolia trees after the rain,” I answer, not giving a fuck if she does or doesn’t realize I spent the better part of a year trying to capture that scent and put a name on it.
She huffs, “And you smell like a man obsessed with his dick.”
“Well, there’s something we always had in common.” I grab her hips and lift her up so she’s at eye level with me. Her hands grip my shoulders and she wraps her sexy ass legs around me … in sleep pants. “My dick, my mouth, my fucking?—”
“You need to shut up and get on with it. I don’t have time for your games.”
Walking toward the hall to head upstairs, she grips the doorjamb, halting us. “We can fuck right here.”
“You want me to fuck you, Gwend?—”
Fingernails digging into the back of my neck, she states, “No, I’m going to fuck you.”
“You sure you can handle little Texas? You think you’re ready to slide your tight, sweet pussy down my cock?” I shake my head. “Never could?—”
“You have a condom down here?” she asks, reaching down into my pocket.
“Prepared like a fucking scout.”
She bypasses the condom for a handful of cock. As always, her first touch makes my eyes get warm, my lids get heavy, and yeah, still, all these years later, the first breath following that connection, it’s kind of hard to take in.
I grip the back of her head and pull back, forcing her eyes to mine. Then I bend to kiss her.
Gwen turns her face and releases my dick. At the same time, she grabs the condom, untangles herself, and steps back.
Turning, she says the same damn thing she did last time and every time since the first post-breakup fuck. “No kissing.”
I grind my teeth together to stop from saying a fucking thing that could ruin this.
She places the packet between her teeth, shrugs off the old man cardigan she’s sporting, pulls her arms out, crosses them in front of her, pushing her perfect little tits together, and pulls the sleep top over her head, tossing it as she turns and hops around to the front of the couch, removing the shorts.
She looks back at me, “Let’s go.”
When I cross my arms, she rolls those blue-gray eyes of hers.
“Let’s make nice.”
“Let’s.” I lose the sweats as I walk around the couch and she takes me in.
I watch as she swallows hard then clears her throat before pointing at the sofa. “Sit.”
I raise my hand like a schoolboy. “No disrespect, but you topping me when you’re not primed is?—”
